


Pushing the Boundaries

by kaeorin



Series: Loki's Lullabies [126]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avenger Reader (Marvel), Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Hugs, M/M, POV Loki (Marvel), Pre-Relationship, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25601965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin
Summary: When you ask Loki for a hug, will he have the courage to give in?
Relationships: Loki (Marvel)/Reader
Series: Loki's Lullabies [126]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678240
Comments: 14
Kudos: 266





	Pushing the Boundaries

“I think I need a hug.”

His first instinct was to ignore you completely. After all, you certainly weren’t talking to him, so there was really no point in responding. But he found himself half-listening for the response. Whoever you were talking to, surely they would oblige you, right? You were universally-adored here in the Tower, and that annoyed him more than he truly liked to think about. Because, when he thought about it, he often came to the same conclusion: he wasn’t annoyed by the fact that the others liked you more than they liked him. He couldn’t blame them. And he couldn’t possibly care less about how much Captain America liked him. But the other Avengers, they monopolized your time. When you first arrived, you’d very quickly fallen into a routine of sorts, and you often sat here in the common room with Loki as the both of you took care of your own business. The two of you said very little to each other, but he came to appreciate your company nonetheless. But then, as you proved yourself in battle again and again, the others started to suck away your free time. And he went back to sitting here by himself.

Tonight was the first night in a long time that you’d slipped into the room and fitted yourself into one corner of the couch. He’d looked up when he heard you approaching. He hadn’t even known you were in the Tower. You’d been gone for weeks, out with Romanoff and Barton doing something or other in Eastern Europe. If he hadn’t been...who he was, he might have been unable to hide the smile that threatened to break out across his face when he saw you there in the doorway. You’d given him a tight smile of your own and gestured towards him with the book you held, like you thought he might need reminding of why you were here.

You’d been sitting together in silence for a while, almost long enough for him to stop focusing on the tiny sounds you were making and return his attention to his book, when you spoke. He expected to hear Rogers’s voice chime in, or possibly Wanda’s, but your words were met only with resounding silence. He didn’t like that. Whoever you were asking for a hug, were they just going to let your request go unacknowledged? Exactly who did they think they were? His temper prickled on your behalf. You were a mystery to him, but only because of your utter _lack_ of mystery. More than anyone else in the Tower, you were fearless when it came to sharing your thoughts and even your feelings. It was hard for Loki to imagine ever being so forthcoming. But you knew what you wanted, or needed, and you were unafraid to come right out and ask for it. At first, he hadn’t understood, and so he’d sort of looked down on you for it, but over time he decided that it was actually a sign of courage. And then it became rather endearing.

So he was _sorely_ tempted to have a word with whoever it was that was ignoring you. 

He looked up towards the doorway, but no one was there. He did a quick scan of the room, on the off-chance that anyone had managed to sneak in unnoticed, but it was still only the two of you. He turned his head, then, to look at you, and saw that you were already gazing at him. He narrowed his eyes at you. “Me? Are you talking to me?” 

You smiled. Norns, he loved your smile. He’d long since stopped trying to force that thought away, given the sheer number of times he caught you smiling at him. “I think so. Yeah. Could I hug you? Would that be okay?”

It was rather alarming, just how much of his mind—and body—thrilled at the thought of that. He was not a hugger. He was not one for sentiment, especially not when it came to you. He forced his eyes back onto the pages of the book in his lap and did his best not to scowl at it. The very idea of having your arms wrapped around him seemed too good to be true. It was too pleasant. If his long, long life had taught him anything, it was that he did not deserve much pleasantness. He hated himself even as he heard the words he said to you: “Why me? I’m sure Rogers would be thrilled to help you out.”

“Oh.” Your voice was quiet. He got the sense that you looked away from him, then, and fiercely wished he could take back what he’d said. “Sorry. I just… Yeah, sorry.” You sounded embarrassed. And just like that, his chances of ever feeling your body pressed against him went back down to zero. What better way to make sure you’d never ask him for anything like that again? 

But, rather than rising to your feet to go off in search of the Greatest American Soldier, he heard you tuck yourself a little more securely into the couch and open your book. That seemed odd. You said you needed a hug. He’d harshly turned you down and told you to go ask somebody else, but you were still going to stay right there? He continued listening to you. It seemed like you were actually reading. You were turning pages in your book. It was perhaps a little slower than usual, but he’d already gotten a feel for your reading speed. That made him uncomfortable too.

There was really only one way to fix this. 

He drew in a long, slow breath, held it, let it out. Then, gently, he closed his book and rose to his feet. You didn’t look up right away. He watched your eyes scan the page in front of you and told himself that you did not look especially lonely. He moved a little closer, closer than he’d ever been before, and only then did you look up at him.

“Are you okay?” You precious thing, asking after him even after he’d turned you down so coolly. Your brow furrowed as you studied him, and he ignored the odd thrill that ran through him when he saw your eyes drop lower to take him all in.

“I’ll hug you.” He hated how cool his voice still sounded, but it was still the best he could do. This whole situation was so far out of his comfort zone that he wasn’t sure...of anything.

Your eyes widened and you lifted one hand as though to ward him off. “No, it’s okay! You don’t have to. I shouldn’t have made you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry!” 

How had this world shaped you into...you? You’d come to him seeking comfort and he’d rejected you, and you were apologizing to _him_? The quiet, nasty voice in the back of his mind told him that he didn’t deserve to touch you, but he did his best to ignore it. He lifted his arms into the air a little: his best attempt at an invitation. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. Come on, love. I’d be honored.”

He could see the struggle in your face. You truly didn’t want to make him do anything he was uncomfortable with, but you were also hesitant to keep refusing, since that would also lead to an uncomfortable situation. Not for the first time, he was struck by the urge to cover your eyes with his hand, to give you permission to stop thinking and just _feel_ something. Was he projecting too much of his own self onto you? Was he presuming to know more about your mind than he truly did? Your face was always so open, so unguarded, but was he misinterpreting everything?

After what seemed like forever, you did finally close your book and place it on the cushion beside you. His heart surged a bit even as you pulled yourself to your feet and took several halting steps towards him. But he knew, just as surely as he knew his own mind, that it was not fear that slowed your steps. You were perhaps the only mortal in Midgard who did not fear him. “You really don’t have to...”

He reached out to grab your hand before he could really think about it, and then he tugged you gently towards him. You did not resist. In moments, you were pressed against him, your arms sliding around his waist as though you’d already done this a hundred times or more. He did his best not to show how taken aback he was. You felt better than he’d ever thought you could. He wrapped his arms around you and had to consciously remind himself not to crush you too fiercely against him. He heard you let out a sigh—a long, shaky thing, that sounded like you were carrying the weight of the world. You hid your face in his chest, and he moved one hand to press against the back of your head so he could keep you there. 

It was the strangest thing. As he stood there, as he held you, he could feel tension leaving your body. You leaned into him like you trusted him to support your weight. You clung to him like you couldn’t bear the thought of letting him go. He hoped against hope that you couldn’t hear his frenetic heartbeat, but given the fact that you were _right there_ , he knew that was foolish. But a strange thing happened there in the center of the room: He stopped caring. It didn’t matter if you knew how much this was affecting him. 

You made a sound like a whimper, and it cut right through him, but you tightened your arms around him so he couldn’t pull away to get a better look at you. “Thank you, Loki. You feel really good.” Had he ever heard you sound like this? So quiet and vulnerable and open? And it was because of _him_. He ducked down a little, just enough to rest his chin on the top of your head. 

“As do you.”


End file.
